


Son of a pig

by Verhalengrot



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Epic Fail, Fun, Gen, Humor, Insults, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 00:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verhalengrot/pseuds/Verhalengrot
Summary: Menno is having a drink with some fellow soldiers when a man comes with some strange information about his father.





	Son of a pig

A gust of wind pushed against the wooden sign, so that it slowly began to swing back and forth. The sign showed a painted hawthorn and this was exactly the name of the inn: the Hawthorn.

Two men, dressed in a leather jacket with a chain mail over it, came to the inn and pushed the door open. The mixture of voices in the taproom came over them as soon as they stepped over the threshold and they were loudly greeted by a few other soldiers at one of the tables.

The dimly lit taproom was spacious, the beer was cheap and the tables were clean. For these reasons the inn was a popular place for soldiers and town guards to have a drink together, when they were off-duty. Even though the largest group of customer consisted of soldiers, the townspeople also came here for a drink when they wanted one.

At one of the tables a group of soldiers sat together, they were sharing some stories while enjoying a pint of ale, when one of the townspeople stumbled over one of the swords that stuck out behind the chair. The owner of the sword, a soldier named Menno, glanced behind him to see what had happened.

“Keep that sword with you, you son of a pig!” The man fumed while he scrambled back up on his feet.

Menno looked at him and then slowly shook his head. “My father is not a pig, he’s a baker here in the city. That difference is quite clear, I’d say.”

“That’s not what I mean, you son of a pig,” the man growled at Menno.

Menno sighed and looked at his companions, before he looked at the man again. “I’m sure my father is not a pig, but if you go to the bakery down the street you can check that for yourself.” Menno turned back, took a sip of his beer and he rolled his eyes to the other soldiers.

“You do not understand,” the man slowly said, carefully pronouncing each word, so Menno would understand him well. “To be, like you are, a son of a pig you must have a pig as a father. I wanted to say that your mother has slept with a pig and then gave birth to you.”

“Oh,” Menno said and then he nodded to show he understood. “I understand. So you came all the way here to tell me … that you are my father?”

The other soldiers at the table roared with laughter and banged their fists on the table. The man himself was baffled, but the astonished look in his eyes was soon replaced by a furious one and he pulled a hunting knife from his belt. That was a mistake, because the Hawthorn was full of soldiers. The man was chased out of the inn and Menno watched him go. He ran a finger under his eye, as if he had wipe away a tear. “I wonder if I will ever see my “father” again...”

The table companions of Menno started laughing again and Menno himself laughed with them.


End file.
